creature comforts

I'm fascinated by this creature called Creativity. I've been having a real run for the past few weeks, getting through chapters (rewriting old versions longhand and finding new depth and perfection in them); I even came upon an exciting, new, very solidifying way to organize the novel, which isn't radically different, but different enough to make things feel like they'd fallen into place, different enough to excite me.

Then I got to chapter twelve. I searched through my box of envelopes -- one for each chapter -- and found this envelope empty. Hm. I looked on my computer at the dizzying array of previous versions -- research and notes -- called things like august old files and old files august and files august old. I went through and reorganized all of the files in those folders, discarded repeats. Some had only chapter numbers for names, which was a bad idea because the chapters have moved around quite a bit and a number of times since I've. So I had to open most all of them, though I wanted to open many of them anyway, because I was looking for something to go on to help ease me into chapter twelve.

But I found nothing at all. I have the story in my head; I know what happens, so clearly that I thought surely I had written it down somewhere. But I let go and let God, in a manner of speaking. I bought another pouch of American Spirit organic tobacco after having not smoked for a couple of weeks when the previous pouch ran out. I believe that there is something to sitting on the porch and smoking a cigarette (occasionally with a tiny bit of an extra ingredient in it) that helps inspire my creative spirit.

A few days ago, I sat out on the porch again and again writing a half-paragraph or a half-sentence or a half-line. It wasn't terribly frustrating, I just didn't feel the flow happening, and I know from experience that it comes in its own time, though perhaps it can be egged along. I thought of this when I read my "Free Will Astrology" by Rob Brezny in The Austin Chronicle the other day.

I'm not a radical believer/follower of astrology, but I do read our 'scopes once in awhile, usually while I'm sitting at the kitchen table and S is putting the last touches on a meal that's about to be served, or sometimes when our after-meal talk has ended or was sparse in the first place. I always read Pisces and Aries for him, because he's on the cusp, and I always read Scorpio and Sagittarius for me, because I had an in-depth star chart thingie done on a few years ago on my birthday, and the chart-reader said that my rising sign was so close to Sagittarius -- and my childlike exuberance is so Sadge in nature -- that she thinks perhaps the nurse or whomever marked down my time of birth might have looked up at the clock a little late or early or something like that. Anyway, she suggested I read Sagittarius as well, and I do, usually just for the fun of it, more often after the fact to see how well things matched up with what the predictions were.

So, here's the Sagittarius reading for me for April 25 - May 2:
Your metaphorical pregnancy has gone on rather long. No reason to panic. I'm sure your brainchild or masterpiece will arrive shortly. But just for fun, maybe you could watch a time-lapse film of a rose opening. That was helpful in expediting the birth process for two new mothers I know. Here are two other tricks to try, even if the blessed event you're about to enjoy is purely symbolic: Arrange to be in a place where a storm is coming on. Folk tradition says that labor often follows drops in barometric pressure. Or get ahold of rings made from a rattlesnake tail. Early American explorers Lewis and Clark gave them to their Native American guide Sacagawea when it was near her time, and they seemed to expedite the baby's arrival magically.

That was the last of the four I read. When I finished, S said, "That's your book." He wasn't being new agey, just kind of wink-wink nudge-nudge. Before he called me to the table, I was sitting in front of the computer watching videos of "sixteenth birthday parties," because that's what chapter twelve is about. I said, "Maybe I should go search for a time-lapse video of a rose opening."

But I didn't. I had plans to go see a couple of shows in the theater festival that's going on here right now called Fusebox. First, at 7:00 was a show called Typewriter Chorus. Here's what the program says about the performance that made me want to see it:
Typewriter Chorus is an experimental collaborative writing exercise in which participants sit at multiple desks with typewriters while being read to from multiple texts by multiple individuals. Participants are asked to type what they hear. The final product is an alchemical manifesto in the spirit of Burrough's cut-up and divine inspiration.

I wanted to be a part of this! I tried to find the people responsible online but found rabbit holes and dead ends, so I decided to just go. I went to Blue Theater. It was set up on the concrete slab out in front of the theater. I got there a few minutes late because I was driving the wrong way to get there(!), but I didn't necessarily miss anything. About halfway into it, a guy walking around reading from an old encyclopedia said, "Does anybody want to read?" I said, "I do!" I read a bit of Homer's Odyssey, which I chose and which was kind of difficult with all of the character names.

That ended at 8:00 and I was going to see another show there at 10:00, but I didn't want to just hang out outside the theater so I headed for home. Then I got the idea to drop in on M&J because I didn't have my phone with me to call them. I did and they were happy to receive me. P was of course excited to see me, "Uncle JDJB!" she exclaimed, "I didn't know you were coming over!" Obviously no one did; J greeted me at the door in his underwear!

I told them about the show I was going to see, Neal Medlyn's Lionel Ritchie Opera:
...composed entirely of songs from Mr. Ritchie's seminal greatest-hits album 'Back to Front' in the order they appear on the album. The songs, together with a plot (partially based on Richard Strauss' opera Arabella) about a love triangle between the queen of the land of unicorns, her sullen betrothed and a hot and sexy foreign musician, come together to tell an epic and tragic tale involving mass murder, unwanted pregnancy and lust. Singing! Blood! Processions! Livestock! Life! All performed by Neal Medlyn. Phew! Oh, and there's a short, unrelated prologue.

M wanted to go with me because she had seen Lionel Ritchie perform at the Summit in Houston back in his heyday (and also because they "never get out," and J encouraged her to go with me). I was excited to have company. But we still had some time to kill, so we drank some muscadine wine a coworker of J's had given him -- her father's "No Good" stash, labeled this way so that his family wouldn't drink the good stuff (the bottles marked "Good" were really the no good stuff) which she ended up with after his death. Then we drank some tequila. Then we left and came by my house to smoke a little weed and got to the show just in time.

The most bizarre and interesting thing that Neal did in the show was, as the queen, gave head to a unicorn which ejaculated all over him. It was all smoke and mirrors, so to speak, but pretty exciting (in a non-sexually stimulating way).

The reason I wanted to see Neal's show was because I saw him a year ago in this same festival (he's from here but lives in NYC) and I was inspired by him; he reminded me of my titular character, performance artist august chagrin, whom I've realized in more recent months is probably more like me than any other character in my book, and in having that realization I've been able to explore my own desires to perform (as august chagrin), and have been doing so. It may sound weird, but it was good for me to see a straight man give head to a unicorn onstage. Oddly, it gave me permission to not be so freaked out (and I have been) over what people think of me. This all comes from childhood baggage, of course, but it's very real and probably a big part of why I want to be a "weird performer," so as to exorcise (and exercise) these demons within me. Not that I want to give head to a unicorn onstage -- not yet, anyway! -- but I feel free to let my creativity roam a little more.

After the show, M and I went for a drink, first to Clay Pit (where D supposedly works -- D whom I gave my number to three weeks ago when I saw him there, and who has not called, which could have to do with the fact that he wrote my number on his hand at the end of his shift; I've been back twice, now three times, and he has not been there) and then to Longbranch Inn.

Earlier, M&J and I had talked about S's and my desire to live on their property, which they're all for; J said draw up a design and we'll do something funky. When I got home, I couldn't sleep right away. I was inspired, and drunk. I sat on the porch and smoked a cigarette and came up with an idea for a design (see how cigarettes function in my life?!). I came in and sketched it out.

Then -- here's the big exciting part of the blog that connects back to my horoscope -- I finally went to sleep at 2:00 a.m., only to be awakened by a storm, a loud cracking of thunder, three cracks in fact, and as I petted Timmy to calm him, the wind blew the curtain horizontal and leaves and limbs and chimes outside clanked about. The barometric pressure was dropping!

I went to the bathroom to pee, and while I sat there, I thought that perhaps August's sixteenth birthday party couldn't take place because of a storm. I came up with the idea of hail, not in any specific way, but just generally as a good dramatic effect to interrupt things somehow. Then I flushed and came back to bed. And believe it or not as I lay down, a brief tinkling of hail played on the awnings outside my windows. It was electric!

I woke up the next morning (at 11:00) and started writing. It flowed out of me fabulously. I paused in the middle, exhausted for a spell (because I have to write everything longhand first), and washed some laundry, did some dishes, took the dry laundry off of the clothesline in the middle room. LR from the Dance I used to go to was having her annual birthday party/performance at A's house at 6:00. I wanted to go to try to be part of the Typewriter Chorus at 7:00 again, which the artist had told me was happening again the following night, so I told A I wouldn't be able to stay for the whole party and she told me to come early, 5-ish, she said LR would be there.

I didn't know if I would have a performance offering for LR. Last year I sang my song "Sweet Tooth," but didn't want to do that again. Well, as I was taking the laundry down, the first line of a song came to me: "Laura Rose, Laura Rose, how deep is her love? No one really knows." It sang around in my head, and then another line came, and another, and I figured I'd better stop what I was doing and write down what I had. Eventually, I turned on the keyboard and found a nice oom-pah-pah song style to go along with it:

Laura Rose, Laura Rose,
How deep is her love?
No one really knows.
Through the ground, deeper down,
And up to the sky like a garden hose.
From her tits, to where she sits,
From the crown on her head to her twinkle toes.
From her heart, 's where it starts,
This most awesome love that is
Laura Rose.

I printed a couple dozen copies of it, went to the party at 5:00, left just before 7:00, went to the Typewriter Chorus, was selected as a reader and read from a book by Salvador Dali then Sexus by Henry Miller, nonstop for an hour, got back to the party just after 8:00, in the midst of the performances happening, asked for a number (everybody took numbers to decide when they would perform), picked a low number, so I was next! Interestingly I wasn't nervous at all. The crowd loved the song, started singing right away, and kept singing after I was done and even later on in the evening.

I got home at about 10:00, having left the first half of chapter twelve halfway transcribed. I finished transcribing the other half then kept on typing and finished the chapter (not longhand, for once), and I love the way it turned out.

I was talking to P on the phone earlier yesterday when I was trying to find out what time the party started. I told her about the chapter that was coming out of me and she told me she was glad to hear me talk about the chapter because I was the only person in her life currently who is experiencing any joy at all. That was a little bit of a bummer, but it's true that I'm experiencing joy; this creative creature residing in me is such a joyful comfort in my life when he decides to bubble up.